Sunday, April 18, 2010

NaPoWriMo 2010: 18 April

We Make Room in the Ground for Incomers

In Crete they pay a priest to bleach the bones before
the village gathers round to check the dead for worth;
the struts of good and pious folk are free of stain.
My bones are cracked to charcoal. I am not your friend.
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